Draco's Rhapsody
by GumAcacia
Summary: *COMPLETE - Very angsty short little ficlet. Draco's world is resting on a very shaky foundation. What happens when he finds out his father the 'hero' has a few too many skeletons in his closet? ~*~Got a tissue~*~


Disclaimer: (Like I really need to say it, but who wants to get sued!) This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K 'The Goddess' Rowling, various publishers including (but not limited to) Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made (Yes good people, I'm still poor broke hahaha) and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. A few things (just a few Curses/Spells/Characters and all the purtty words) are. This takes place in the summer between year five and six.  
  
Warning: This particular fic is just a bit dark, but it begged me to be released from my head, holding hostage my sleep! And since I didn't sleep much last night, I'm caving in. We're talking an angst theme in this one so TURN BACK NOW if that bothers you. It is not, in fact, a graphic story, so most things are just implied... You ready? OK, here we go...  
  
Draco's Rhapsody  
  
By: Gum Acacia  
  
  
  
"Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?  
  
Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality.  
  
Open your eyes, look up to the skies and see. I'm just a poor boy; I need no sympathy! Because, I'm easy come easy go, little high, little low. Anyway the wind blows, doesn't really matter to me.  
  
(From Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody)  
  
  
  
Draco Malfoy carelessly made his way down the long stone staircase that led from the back of Malfoy Manor down to the bluffs. The estate was placed on a large cliff top overlooking the sea, and Draco often spent many an hour relaxing on the cliffs, or taking the equally long staircase and spending the day at the beach, though by his lack of tan you'd never know it.  
  
It was easy to see why so many people thought the Manor to be menacing at first glance. All it's immense windows loomed in the early dawn hours, giving the house the feel that all eyes were on you. Draco stopped at the bottom of the massive staircase and turned around to study the house. Gargoyle statues adorned most of the larger eves, an excellent security system however not really necessary (who would dare to try and rob a Malfoy?) There were hedges running along the house, thick and high, full of jinxes curses and a few animals Draco new for a fact were illegal to house. 'Only a fool would try to break into that place,' he thought.  
  
He continued on towards the bluffs and stopped halfway between the staircase and the edge. His legs buckled from beneath him and he quickly sank to the earth, but for the grace of a Malfoy, it seemed even that small act had been carefully planned.  
  
Gone from his young face was the smirk that had caused countless Gryffindors to want to punch him every time they saw him. Instead, he wore a look of sheer fatigue. If you had never known Draco and had just come across him now, you would have thought his poor body had traveled across a great distance. Pure exhaustion rolled off him like waves.  
  
He sat completely still forcing all thoughts to leave his mind. Right now, he wanted to just be a shell capturing the sounds of the waves crashing below. He was completely unaware that he had wrapped his arms around his body trying to keep out the cold that was gripping his heart. He began to unconsciously rock back and forth still staring straight off into the distance.  
  
A short hour ago he had been parading around Malfoy Manor giving out orders to any servant who dare came within shouting distance of his voice. But now he didn't believe he could force himself to choke out a whisper. Not now, not when he knew...things.  
  
He finally broke contact with the horizon and looked down at his left arm. He slowly raised the fabric of his most expensive dress robes, (he had changed mechanically before walking out the back way) there on his arm was the 'gift' his father had promised him for his sixteenth birthday. The Dark Mark.  
  
His father had been so proud of him, beaming when Draco calmly held out his arm for the Dark Lord to brand, never even flinching as the wand seared his flesh. Draco too had felt pride; he was now a part of the group that would rid the world of the dangers of Muggles and Mud-Bloods, and all those who supported them. Every real wizard had to know what kind of threat they posed! For every wizard on the planet, there was more then two thousand Muggles. They were killing the planet, they were causing wars, and they most assuredly would try to kill or enslave any Witch or Wizard if they were ever 'found out' again. Something reminiscent to the Salem Witch trials, he supposed, but with much deadlier consequences with the Muggles new evolvements. Draco had joined Voldemort out of pride for his people. Out of self-preservation! And because he respected his father more than any man in existence and that was exactly what Lucius had wanted him to do.  
  
Now he looked down at the mark and wanted to retch. He dug his nails into his flesh, and scratched back and forth over the brand, blood was dripping down his arm and his own flesh was under his fingernails, but still he wouldn't stop. But the Mark was too deep. And Draco gave up, he screamed into the early morning sky still littered with stars, a deep guttural moan.  
  
A fleeting thought passed his mind that The Weasel would love to see him like this. Broken and sobbing on the ground, shaking from fear and pain, unable to even stand. And Potter? He would probably get a camera just so he could have this moment to remember forever! That thought caused him to quickly get to his feet again.  
  
"I am still a Malfoy, and that commands respect!" He walked a few feet more towards the edge; he was still about twenty feet away when he stopped again. He looked back once more; his eyes betrayed him as they searched out the window he wanted to forget. He found it, and he could not pull himself to look away. 'Just an hour ago,' he savagely thought. "Why in Merlin's name didn't I just go practice Quidditch," he softly whispered.  
  
Thoughts came rushing back quickly in his mind, breaking down the feeble barriers he had put up hoping to keep them at bay. His eyes rolled in the back of his head, and he felt dizzy again, swaying slightly but remaining on his feet. Just a short hour ago he had woken far earlier then he intended to, but used to insomnia plaguing him often, he had decided to get up early while his parents still slumbered.  
  
He quickly dressed in dark purple robes and headed out for the main hall where he knew the servants would be meeting to plan for the day. He smirked as they all fell to immediate silence at his entrance, "Good morning everyone."  
  
"Good morning Master Draco," came the monotonous reply.  
  
"Billings," Draco waved for their head Butler to join him in private. "I would like the key to Pensieve Hall now. I wish to do some exploring this morning before my parents awake."  
  
Billings looked slightly reticent, "But Sir, your Father has informed me that Pensieve Hall is to remain locked at all times and no one, save he, should be allowed admittance."  
  
Draco scowled and pulled himself up to his full height of six feet. "I do not believe I requested your permission or opinion. You will give me the key to Pensieve Hall and further more you will keep the servants away from that area this morning. And you will let me know before my parents come down." He gave Billings a grin filled with vice, "It would be a shame if Father ever found out about your taste for young Muggle boys."  
  
Billings blanched, "Sir, I don't know what you're talking about! I've never in my life-"  
  
Draco cut him off with a cold laugh, "I know that, and you know that. But the point is, what will my Father believe?"  
  
Billings turned visibly white and with a shaking hand gave Draco his master key. "Here you are Sir, as requested."  
  
Draco gave one more smirk and quickly made his way to the fourth floor's west wing. It was dedicated to Pensieve hall. Draco had ached to see the things inside since he was a young boy, but his father had insisted that he not be allowed into this room until his twenty-first birthday, the day he would inherit, and become the Master of Malfoy Manor.  
  
He slowly turned the key and pushed the great doors opened. The Hall was enormous; it was at least three times as long as his bedroom, (which took up quite a bit of space in the fifth floor's east wing) and twice as wide. It looked as though over a thousand portraits hung from the wall, each with a large plaque underneath stating the name and history of his ancestors. Beneath each plaque was a bowl. Some were large and silver, some were gold. One appeared to be made of wood, while another looked like it was made of flower petals enchanted to stay together.  
  
The memories of his family for generations were in this room. He ached to look into each bowl, and see the reflections of each one. He walked around the room, some portraits waving at him, others merely sneering. He looked inside his ancestor Judecus Malfoys', Pensieve. Immediately he was in another time. Judecus, who had raven black hair and steel blue eyes, was commanding an army. 'Must be The War of the Founders,' he casually thought. He watched as Judecus hexed Wizard after Wizard, sometimes bludgeoning them with the large silver ax that he held in his left hand.  
  
Draco pulled out after seeing the fifth Wizard have his head separated from his body. Draco let himself fall into three more Pensieve's, each one as fascinating as the next. Well, save his antecedent, Ardiate Malfoy, whose only memories seemed to consist of a tall nude Italian man by the name of Anton.  
  
Draco looked around stopping dead in his tracks. He was looking into the glowering face of his father. Or rather, his fathers portrait to be precise. It shook its head as Draco crept near the treasure of his quest, his fathers own Pensieve. Still not complete, but undoubtedly full of enthralling memories.  
  
He quickly put his face near the bowl, and felt himself fall into his fathers memories. The first recollection was of the day Draco was born. Draco grinned, his chest heaving with pride at the choice of his fathers' 'precious' memories. He watched as his Mother cradled him, how his father gently stroked his head. Draco moved towards the bed where the small family was at rest, but as he did so, the memory was swept away and a new one took its place.  
  
Draco was five months old, and his father was holding him out for the Dark Lord to inspect. "Yes Lucius, this is a strong child. The magic in him flows deeply. You will give him to the order no doubt?"  
  
Lucius nodded his head fervently, "Whatever you wish for him My Lord, it only has to be asked."  
  
"And if I were to ask you to kill him here and now?"  
  
Lucius nodded again, "You need only request how it is to be done, My Lord."  
  
Draco felt his stomach drop from beneath him.  
  
"That is very good Lucius. However I have plans for this one. He will be powerful one day, and he will be mine."  
  
Draco felt tears sting his eyes. He tried to remember the last time he cried. It had been when he was five years old, and he had broken both his legs jumping for the practice Quidditch goal hoops his father had set up for him. At the look of displeasure on Lucius' face when he wallowed in pain, Draco promised himself he would never cry again. But now, he had forgotten that promise and his tears flowed freely. 'If it had been requested, Father would have killed me.'  
  
He was quickly pulled into another memory. He saw himself no more then five years old, scrambling to get on top of his Mothers' bed. She was holding a small infant in her arms.  
  
"Who's dat?" the young Draco asked, eyes wide with curiosity.  
  
"This, my little Dragon, is you sister. Her name is Ceres. Isn't she beautiful?"  
  
The little Draco nodded his head fervently. "She's very pretty mumma. Is she mine?"  
  
Narcissa Malfoy laughed and nodded her head, "Yes, my little Dragon. She's all yours. Would you like to hold her?"  
  
Draco nodded his head and scrambled to sit next to his Mother, listening as she told him to hold her head carefully. "Wow, mumma she looks like you. And she's really all mine?" Draco lowered his head and kissed his sisters cheek. "I'm gonna teach you everything, and you'll always be mine. And I won't let anything bad ever happen to you, Okay?"  
  
Narcissas' smiles faded as the memory pulled away. 'What is this? Where I am? This never happened!' Draco screamed in his thoughts.  
  
A new recollection unfolded quickly. His mother and father were kneeling in front of a strange man, this time little Ceres was in his arms. "I am sorry Lucius. But this child has no magical ability. A Squib and therefor worthless to the cause."  
  
He placed the baby back in its Mothers' arms. A look of panic filled Narcissa's eyes. That look of desperation made the hair on Draco's neck stand up. He knew something wrong was going to happen. He helplessly watched as the memory played out.  
  
"But surely Jareth, she is but three months. Shouldn't we give her time for her abilities to show?"  
  
Draco flinched at the loud crack that filled the air as the man struck his hand across his fathers' jaw. "Don't ever question me, Lucius. I find it most insulting. Do you think I need to wait until she's older? Do you think that low of my abilities? She has no magic in her, and she never will. She is worthless to the cause. Get rid of her."  
  
Both parents gasped, and Draco watched as his five-year-old self burst into the room. "No! You can't do anything to her, she's mine you can't have her!" He was hitting the Dark man, his fists pounding with all his might, but the man just stood there and laughed.  
  
"Lucius, it would be wise of you to teach the boy now where loyalty lies. Not in Muggles, not in Mud-Bloods, and certainly not in worthless little Squibs who are an insult to the wizarding world. When the Dark Lord returns, he would be most displeased to see one of his future servants were...less then loyal. Pick him up Lucius, and teach him now before I have to."  
  
Lucuis hurried over and picked up the crying child, trying to sooth him to silence. "Be quiet now, My Son. Be quiet."  
  
The vision blurred out and in its place stood yet another memory; one Draco was sure he did not want to see. His mother and father were standing out by the bluffs at the back of their Manor. Narcissa had a blank expression on her face, she looked as though she had died inside, and now her body was just going through the motions until it caught up to her heart and just gave out. She was holding back Draco, who had tears streaming down his face. Lucius was holding in his arms little Ceres. The baby was eerily quiet.  
  
"Please Daddy, I don't want her to go anywhere. She's mine, Mumma said so!"  
  
Lucius shook his head. "She is not right, Draco. We can not keep her. Only the pure blood should stand, only those whose magic fills their being. She was a spoiled gift Draco, not worthy of you." He looked calmly over at Narcissa. "I can not use magic, if the ministry were to find out anything-"  
  
She cut him off with a nod of her head, her fingers digging into Draco's young flesh. "Make it quick Lucius."  
  
Lucius walked quickly to the edge of the bluff, looked down at the child in his arms, gave only one sob of regret, and let the small bundle fall down to the sea and rocks below.  
  
"NOOO!" screamed both the young and older Draco, who had stood back helplessly watching it all.  
  
He watched himself run to the edge and look down, screaming for his baby. He watched as his younger self fell to the ground shaking vigorously, curling himself into the fetal position. Watched as he sucked his thumb, tears leaking down his face, a small wet spot staining his robes between his legs. He watched as Lucius calmly picked up his son. Watched his parents return to the manor as if nothing happened. Heard his Father whisper softly "Obliviate", ripping away Draco's memory of it all.  
  
Draco wanted out, he tried to pull himself out of the Pensieve, but something was anchoring him there. He watched more memories, each one adding to his terror. Each one making him realize what hell he had left himself get into; just with a mark on his arm.  
  
He watched older memories, of his Fathers' initiation into the Death Eaters. Watched as both his mother and father screamed under the Crusiatas curse at the hand of their master. Watched as his own father tortured countless people. 'Innocent people,' Draco thought for the first time in his life.  
  
He saw for the first time, what it truly meant to be a follower of Lord Voldemort. He saw more recent memories. He watched his fathers' return to Voldemort. He saw the Death eaters surround a frightened Harry Potter. He watched as a web of light sprang around them both, saw people seep from Voldemort's wand. And he watched as Harry ran grabbing the portkey and Cedric's body, disappearing in an instant.  
  
He watched the Dark Lord scream in frustration and bring each of his 'faithful' followers to their knees in agony for 'failing him' yet again. He felt himself being pulled away from all the memories. His body was being ripped away, but he was grateful for the pain. He didn't think he could stand one more piece of hell.  
  
He gasped loudly as his senses returned to him. He was looking into the face of Billings. It seemed to be forever ago that he last saw him. "Sir, you parents have wrung, and will be down shortly. I thought you should know."  
  
Draco's eyes were burning with tears, but he choked them back, somehow still feeling the need to be in command of this person. "Very good, Billings. Take the key and lock this up. I am going to my room, I do not wish to be disturbed for the remainder of the morning. If my parents ask why, tell them I'm working on instructions dealing with Harry Potter. My Father will know what I mean."  
  
Draco placed the key in the servants' hand and fled the room as quickly as he could without drawing too much attention to himself. He ran for his bedroom and through open the doors. He slammed them shut again and ran to his bed flinging himself on it, gasping for air.  
  
He couldn't manage to breathe. He pulled off all his clothes, trying to rid his body of the fiery heat he was feeling. Skin hot, heart cold...Draco felt dizzy with confusion. He stood before his mirror naked and looked at his own body. It looked the same as it did this morning, but now so much had changed. He knew things. His heart was grieving for a sister he couldn't even remember, grieving for the illusion that his father was a great man.  
  
He looked at his normally pale skin; it was flushed with fever. And on his arm, the mark seemed to burn black, staining him with evil. He felt himself suddenly go calm. Somewhere his thoughts registered he must be going into shock, but his conscious mind was telling him to move. He moved swiftly across the room and opened the doors to one of his cumbrous wardrobes. He pulled out a set of dress robes he normally only reserved for extremely important occasions.  
  
He dressed quickly and quietly. He moved to his desk and took out two scrolls. He wrote them both quickly, and leaving one on his bed, he took the other with him to the back of his house. He moved towards the room he knew the owls were kept in, and called for his own eagle owl to come down. She perched softly on his shoulder. He attached the note to his owls leg, whispered a name and in an instant she was off. Draco watched only for a moment as she soared out of the window, flying far way.  
  
Draco shook his head as the memory faded. 'Only an hour ago' he calmly said to himself again. He looked down at the ground and was amazed to see that he was only three feet from the edge of the cliff. He hadn't realized he had even been moving. His body was shaking again, and cold sweat was dripping down his neck. His hair was matted to his head, and the skin under his eyes looked purple and bruised.  
  
"Three feet isn't much to ask, I guess." He looked at his feet and slowly moved his eyes back to the edge of the cliff. "Three feet means I don't have to feel this. Just three little feet, and Voldemort can't ever have me."  
  
He looked up to the sky, which had grown thick and dark with clouds. He felt the rain break free and fall down on his head, soothing his burning flesh but freezing him inside to the core. He watched as lightening cracked across the sky. It made him think of a scar. A scar on a boy whose parents had died to save him. A boy who never seemed to have to try to see what was right, and what should be done. He felt rage and jealousy well up inside him.  
  
"Three more feet," he choked out. "And I never have to feel this again, not about you!"  
  
He moved towards the edge, he was only inches away. He thought of his sister, the child he never knew, and how silent she was that night, years ago. That night, those memories, that child. All things his father had taken away. "You didn't even let me remember. You never had the guts to let me know what a coward you are."  
  
Draco heard the waves crashing below. To him, it sounded like soft laughter, sweet and soothing. Down there, everything would be okay. Down there, it *was* magic. Down in the sweet spray of the sea, everything was washed away. Draco heard the call again, his sisters call. He nodded his head and decided three feet wasn't too much to ask after all. Glancing one last time over his shoulders, Draco answered her call.  
  
***  
  
Epilogue:  
  
There were two notes found that hot, wet June morning. Narcissa Malfoy carefully unfolded the letter addressed to her, and slowly sank to the floor by her sons' bed. She thought she had lost the ability to feel so long ago when she watched the small form of her daughter be swallowed away in the darkness of the sea. She felt as though wherever her heart had been hiding, it had been found, and now it was being torn open. "My little Dragon," she cried softly.  
  
The note simply read: ~Mother, I'm going to see Ceres, I won't be home for tea.~  
  
The second note had just been delivered to its final destination, and a confused Harry Potter puzzled over it's meaning. He knew it had been from Draco; the family crest was at the top of the letter, but he didn't understand what it meant.  
  
It read: ~I hate you, I want you to know that. But, I think I'll miss hating you.~  
  
It would be another week before Harry understood what the letter meant, and another three before they found the body...  
  
  
  
"Nothing really matters, anyone can see. Nothing really matters to me. Anyway the wind blows..."  
  
(From Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody)  
  
~~~~~~ A/N  
  
This little ficlet is dedicated to J.K Rowling, Thomas Felton, C.C, Al, A- HA! And every other person who made me look twice at Draco, and see that he is a walking adjective. He's smooth, he's a prat, he's a jerk, he's lonely, he's evil, he's misunderstood, he's sexy lol, he's awkward...he's a million things, only half of which we see. 


End file.
